Warrior Enchanted: The Sons of the Zodiac (31 page)

Royally.

“Drake and Emerson needed our help.” Quinn’s voice was quiet but the authority—and responsibility—was unmistakable.

“So you just left your man on her—your mortal man—with no backup? You might as well have put her in the middle of fucking Times Square with a target on her head.”

While responsible, the bull also wasn’t taking his shit. “What the hell else was I supposed to do? She’s not our prisoner, Grey, and she’s not yours. She’s a grown woman with a life. The fish needed us.”

“Finley needed you. She needed our protection.”

And even that hadn’t been enough.

“She
had
our protection. Now it’s up to us to get her back.”

The urge to port away was strong, but Grey knew he needed to stay and work through their game plan. Knew that he needed to calm down and focus.

Focus through the mind-numbing fear of what awaited her in her real life, where monsters plotted and lurked to hurt her. So instead of telling her how he felt and how concerned he was, he’d hidden himself away. He’d refused to give her any part of himself or any sense that he was in this with her.

And now Eris had her.

“Look. She can’t have had her for long,” Emerson reasoned from where she had her elbow in a bowl of ice on the table. “The attack at the garage just happened a little over an hour ago. She was under surveillance before you came to us. Right, Quinn?”

Quinn nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Why weren’t
you
watching her, Grey?” Callie’s voice was rapier sharp and—as always—right on the money.

“I’ve been scouring the streets trying to find the people in her office responsible for setting her up.”

“No, you were hiding.” Callie’s gaze never broke as she dropped the next bomb. “And if you’d give Quinn half a chance, he could also fill you in on the information he found.”

“What the fuck?” He refused to hold back the anger, the adrenaline and the frustration that his family hadn’t thought to loop him in. “You don’t tell me?”

“You. Weren’t. Here,” Quinn shot back, his anger telegraphed in the set of his shoulders and the distinctly forward-leaning posture he’d adopted.

Grey knew that pose. It was the one that said he’d just waved a red flag at their bull.

“You could have let me know.”

“Or maybe you could have responded to the call and the text I sent you.”

Grey threw his hands up, torn between the underlying acknowledgment they were right and the ruthless fear that continued to press on him as he struggled to understand where she could have been taken.

“Look. It hasn’t been that long. Add to that we know a lot more than Eris thinks we do and we’ll find her.” Quinn moved up and Grey felt the acknowledging slap on his back. “We’ll find her, Grey.”

Although it was a far cry from comforting, his brothers did have his back. Grey knew that, no matter how mad he was. “How? Eris could have her anywhere.”

“And if she wants us to bring her her goodies, she’s going to need to let us know where she is.”

“She won’t bring Finley to the meet.”

“We won’t deal, Grey. If she doesn’t bring Finley, she gets nothing.” Grey looked down where Quinn laid a hand on his forearm. “We’re going to get your woman back.”

“She’s not my woman.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Finley stared down at the fire-engine-red polish on her toenails and realized she needed a pedicure.

Which was an absurd thought, really, since the fact that she was a kidnapping victim for the second time in less than a week meant an hour in a salon chair should be the least of her worries.

No matter how many times she told herself that, her gaze continued to travel over each nail, looking for imperfections. The small chip in her second toe on her right foot kept drawing her attention, even as she resisted the urge to peel off more polish.

If she was going to die today, she’d like her feet to look as nice as possible.

Die
today.

It was not only possible, it was highly probable. All because she thought she knew better.

Why had she gone into the office?

Her frustration whispered to her as she ran the pad of one finger over her second toe. Like that chip in the polish, she had a fundamental flaw.

She
always
thought she knew better. Always thought she was right.

And look where the hell it had gotten her.

Abstractly, she wondered if Grey knew she was gone. Would he really care?

When they were together, he acted like he had an interest in her. She certainly hadn’t made that kiss up all on her own. But all the kissing in the world couldn’t change the fact he saw her as a chore. A chore he thought he could maneuver.

A chore he assumed he knew better how to handle.

Which really didn’t make them all that different, she realized with a small laugh.

Take out the immortality and the ability to fly through space at the summoning of your will and they were all too alike.

Two stubborn idiots who thought they knew better and who were damn sure they weren’t going to share what they really thought with the other.

God, she was a prize.

All the brains in the world and the ability to reason through things like a lawyer and it hadn’t done her a lick of good. And now she had a chipped toenail, was likely to die and was never going to kiss Grey Bennett again.

She wasn’t quite sure which upset her the most.

The guy she’d seen earlier—the one who looked like he’d been smashed through a blender—opened the door and walked into her room. Although he looked moderately better than earlier, there was a distinct hunch to his broad shoulders that she found eerie. Like he was hiding something.

“What do you want?”

“Eris wanted me to check on you.”

“I’m locked in a windowless room. What the hell was she expecting? A tap dance routine?”

The endless string of women-in-danger movies she watched on Sunday afternoons had prepared her for a slap or a scream or some form of retaliation, but the guy simply held his ground across from her, an odd, speculative stare on his face.

“You’ve taken up with the Warriors, too?”

She battled between saying nothing and using his overture to get some information. The same innate curiosity that had called her to the legal profession reared up and she knew there was no way she could keep her questions to herself.

It was inevitable.

Like the way she loved Grey or the fact that she
would
peel at that polish on her toe.

Loved Grey?

The knowledge had her stumbling over her next breath, but she held herself steady as she took air in and out in slow, easy gulps.

She couldn’t love Grey. It simply wasn’t possible. Smart, successful women didn’t fall for bad boys, no matter how well pressed or expensive the suits they clothed themselves in or quality of the wine they drank.

But she had. Oh God, she’d fallen for Grey.

“Are you going to answer me?”

She pulled her attention back from her wildly flinging thoughts. “Answer what?”

“You’re just like my sister, taking up with one of the Warriors.”

“Why do you care?

And why was he so chatty? Although she realistically
knew Lifetime Movies of the Week weren’t necessarily a stand-in for real life—hell, she’d read enough case files to know that for certain—she also wasn’t expecting a casual conversation about her whereabouts for the past week.

“Curiosity.”

“Well, take it elsewhere.”

He didn’t move from his spot, his breath steady and even. “You’re the bargaining chip. You know that, don’t you?”

Adrenaline ricocheted through her body, and Finley felt the recoil as it kicked through her stomach on a return trip. How to play this? Brazen and bold hadn’t really worked on Gavelli and his men in the warehouse, but playing dumb didn’t seem like an effective tactic, either.

On a silent prayer, she tried brazen and bold once more. “Forget me. What about you? Why have you done this to your sister?”

The quiet, almost subdued demeanor he’d walked in with morphed in the blink of an eye. What replaced it had her taking several steps back as he stalked across the room, his movements surprisingly sinuous for such a large man.

“You know nothing about me and my sister.”

Finley stayed on her guard, but there was no way she was keeping her mouth shut. She’d seen the haunted look in Emerson’s eyes and with startling clarity realized she was looking at the man who’d put it there. “I know that you’ve nearly destroyed her with whatever it is you’ve become.”

“I’m fulfilling my destiny.”

“Is that Eris’s sales pitch before she turns you into a freak?”

“And that fuckwad my sister has taken up with isn’t? Don’t delude yourself. I’m as powerful as they are.”

“With a side of psycho to boot.”

Magnus didn’t move, his posture so still she almost wished he had leaped at her to shut her up. Instead, a sudden, distinctive feeling washed over her as his dark gaze bored into hers, and she took a few steps backward.

Prey.

He kept her in his sights, his dark eyes almost hypnotic as they stared at her, unblinking. As that gaze continued to bore into her like a drill, a large snake unfurled off his back.

Where it came from, Finley had no idea, but she took a few more steps back. The frenzied urge to move quickly nearly overtook her, but she kept her pace even—measured—as she sought to put space between them.

It wasn’t until her shoulders hit the heavy concrete blocks that made up the walls of her prison that she finally allowed herself to scream.

“I’m not staying here, Drake. Don’t even think about it.”

Drake tossed a casual glance at Emerson as he paced around his room, opening drawers and dragging out a variety of weapons. He’d considered and discarded several as he crisscrossed the floor with determined steps. “You can’t go.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Emerson, you’ve been hurt. I can’t see you get hurt even more.” The image of her lying against the far wall
of the parking garage wouldn’t leave his mind’s eye, no matter how many times he looked at her—no matter how many times he touched her to reassure himself she was okay. “I can’t worry about something happening to you again.”

“This is my brother we’re talking about. You know he’s a part of this with Finley.”

“So is Eris, which means you need to leave this to me. My Warrior brothers and I will take care of this.”

“It involves me, Drake.”

“Emerson, you’re a liability if I spend the entire time worried about you.”

She slipped off the bed, the frustrated anger that had simmered under her words for the duration of their conversation shifting into something far more confrontational.

Something far more lethal.

“Let me tell you something, Ace. You use that condescending tone with me one more time and I’m going to hurt you.”

“It’s not condescension; it’s the truth. I won’t let you go back into that. I nearly got you killed earlier. I’m not going to knowingly take you into another situation like what we faced in the garage.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Whatever sedate abilities she believed he carried were nowhere in evidence as fear and frustration rocketed through him in equal measure. “Fuck if I don’t.”

He was across the room in a heartbeat, dragging her into his arms, desperate to make her see reason as he pulled her close. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m in this.”

“No, you’re not.
I’m
in this. Grey’s in this. Even Magnus is in this. You’re not.”

The large ceremonial sword he’d taken off the wall, then rested against a large armoire after deciding it lacked the degree of subtlety he was looking for, shuddered against the wood of the chest before drifting toward them. Drake watched it move, almost mesmerized by the floating steel, until he registered its intent. As the sword moved across the room, it picked up speed until it raced for his throat in a heavy, sweeping arc.

With a tight grip, Drake ported them across the room, the sound of the sword clattering to the floor greeting his ears as he and Emerson landed. “What the—?”

Had she really done this?

The fire had been one thing—expected, almost—but
this
?

Before he could tighten his grip on her—before he could even stutter out a few questions—Emerson was out of his arms and crossing the room, her hands outstretched. The tip of the sword hit the floor a few times before it was again airborne and headed for her hand.

Drake heard the self-satisfaction in her voice before she turned with a matched smile. “Now do you believe me?”

“How did you do that?”

“Remember the drop of ice cream?”

Ice cream? “The one from when you were a kid?”

“Yep.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Same principle.”

Pride and wonder mixed with raw fear made an awfully strange combination, but that was the exact brew that boiled in his system as he crossed the room toward
her. “Same principle, my ass. This is a forty-pound ceremonial sword. It’s nothing like a drop of ice cream.”

“Actually, magically speaking, it is.”

“I thought you couldn’t do inanimate objects?”

“I’m not
doing
anything. I’m moving it and using its physicality to my advantage. There’s no spell on the actual object.”

“But you just moved it across the room.”

“Right. I moved it through space. I can’t put an actual spell on the sword. On any inanimate object.” As if to prove her point, she extended it to him by the hilt. “Go ahead. Hold it.”

When he took it from her, he almost expected it to light up with some sort of electric shock, but the sword felt just as it had when he’d removed it from the wall. Like a heavy, lethal piece of metal. “It doesn’t feel any different.”

“And it won’t. It isn’t different.”

“You just tossed it across the room.”

“Which would be no different than if you had held it in your hand and ran it across the room. I didn’t do anything to it.”

“How did you do it?”

“Magic.”

Drake shook his head, trying to make some sense out of this new development. “You’ve been holding out on me.”